The Mission
[Gnter Gunderson; Minneapolis, Minnesota; 1917] When he first came to America"?a little placid, cleric-like face, juggernauts: while looking for work in the city of Minneapolis, and living in St. Paul (just a river apart), he had a few occasions where"?having only one silver dollar in his pocket to his name"?ended up at the mission eating. A tad degrading, but they served delicious food when one is hungry: chicken a few days old, with its skin on, gravy over it, with mash potatoes, and rice, a roll, a bit hard, but with the gravy it softens. A glass of milk, coffee, and water; the preachers at the mission would go out and look for hungry souls, and preach to them, then tell them if they wanted to eat, they'd have to listen a little longer, and follow them to the Mission House; there was little to do at 6:00 PM, if you didn't have a job, and so that was fine thought Gnter; for back in those days one did as they asked, and got that delicious backed chicken with grave over it; heavy-brown gravy. The preachers would start and often times end at the, "Gateway Park,"? that is, start there and preach, walk down into the other parts of the city, some three to six blocks away, and back again, then the chicken was right around the corner. It"?the chicken was always on your mind during those walks. So the old man knew what humility was, as well as hunger; yes, old man Gnter experienced many things he never mentioned to his family. In contrast, something his daughter Jean-lee never knew was hunger (poverty yes, hunger no (he made sure of that). The Park At the Gateway Park, one could tell by first glance it was a typical gathering of unemployed men. (The Gateway was constructed in 1915 and destroyed in 1939.) Those days were hard days he thought: days that ran into weeks, and weeks that ran into months and then years: years of building, and paying tax's, and sleeping little at times to make a buck; walking in the heavy snow to get to work, thirty-four years of it since he had come"?remembered the Mission House; thirty-four years of rain and snow and heat: of nights filled with refracted moon-glow, that lit his bedroom as he'd look out the curtains, look at the cars and the streets, and streetcars and horses"?watching the horses disappear from the streets"?the caf's come and go. Some of the years were long years, some short years. Sometimes he felt like he was the only tree in the forest that had fallen to the ground, in the silent forest among all the other trees: today was one of those days. at times being mentally-slow became a contest for her, to see how many other people she could fool, fool in the sense of not notifying them of her malfunction, how they would react to her. He had remembered once when they was out with a friend at a caf and she gave the woman a note, it was her dads date, kind of a date: a woman he was seeing at the time, it read, "I'm slow, so forgive me if I don't talk much, or catch on to things quick."? Her father saw that, and the woman laughed, as if it was a joke, she was pretty, well kept, and could write [Jean-lee], but not very well"?still the woman didn't know that. And the father had to assure her, when Jean-lee went to the bathroom, that his daughter was truly trying to be upfront about her condition, and that she was slow. It put the date"?a little on guard, but they both had a good laugh about it after the woman left, both Jean-lee and her dad that is. Matter-of-fact, he was quite proud of that moment, it meant she was regarding herself as not less than equal, "?not smarter either, for she didn't try to compete, just equal, that was the goal, and that was good enough. And so she learned how to face the best of people without them learning of her little defects, her disability, and even polishing that hardship area so it wasn't as much a defect as the doctors would have her believe; by and by she knew she had to learn this, it was not an option not to, for she remembered the heartless children in school who'd make fun of her, fix, fixity, repair it"?this was her way. Furthermore, she had learned how to read by her father's persistence, "?her dad having her read a stanza out of the bible a day, everyday, no more, no less, just one simple stanza for years. The doctors had said she'd never learn how to read, and so the father made a game and contest of it, and she did learn. Not all that good, but good enough, and better than some who were not originally, or as slightly mentally retarded as her, or as he said, 'slightly slower,' for she surpassed them. Her real problem was numbers, counting money, figuring out the sum of an amount. For some odd reason, this seemed to be more difficult, more of a hurdle for her. So her father made a game of that also, putting two dimes in her hand, saying these are the little coins, the little silver ones, and the nickel was named the fat one, and all three made up a quarter, or two-bits"?the big one. Thence, this was enough for two and a half movies at the cinema. This she understood, somewhat, and measured it accordingly, and tried to create a dollar out of it eventually. But, all in all, it was hard. Constantly, she'd have to be reminded of the coins and their values, whereas for the reading, it seemed to stick to her better. That was how she measured and weighed her buying. Her husband"?on the other had, whom was of the same standing as her, except he could do fairly well with numbers but could not read at all, was also a person of creative fortitude in this area, lazy at times but he tried. By and by, they made a good team. Matter-of-fact, he had a job as a cook, and drew pictures of what kind of food he had to make, and when the waitress came by, she'd point to the picture, with a number on it #1 for this and a #2 by another picture for that, he knew exactly what to do, what food to make. He had numbers for everything, everywhere, and it worked for him. Save for fact, down the line, down the road of life, they had some issues with pride; that is, and the son-in-law had a power and control issue between Jean-lee's father and the son-in-law. It would seem he saw the father as someone interfering with his ability to control his family; as a result, he lashed out at that person (the abuser, or son-in-law, seeing this as loosing power within his family). Jean-lee's mother had died some fifteen-years prior to this current event, it was a sad moment for her father, and he never remarried, he had never felt the urge to, no need to, he was happy with his wife"?(he said she wasn't replaceable, and had enough to attend to without looking for another) and now she was gone, no one could, nor did he want any one to, replace her; "?actually he became more rigid people thought, because of this: rigid, which showed in his body shaking when he got mad at life, at business. She (She being: Jean-lee) had wondered if the old man had forgotten how to feel love"?, even sometimes she questioned if he had ever heard of love since her mother had died, had died from a stomach ailment that could not be repaired. No he had not spoken the 'love' word so freely, yet some people do not display it as others would have them do so, and he knew this, and he knew, it is not the lack of love they have for the other person, but it is a demanding selfishness on the part of the other party to demand it, for love is giving, not necessarily receiving. She never questioned him, she was a bit fearful to do so. On one hand she could get whatever she wanted from him, and her husband abused this through her countless times, for self gain"?; on the other hand, she was scared of his voice, but then she was scared of most every harsh, or rustic and dominating voice, that she focused on, on any voice that showed authority, or demanded respect, seemingly thinking it was, possibly was, rejection, something like that, something like kids used to do back in school, when she was just a young girl; back when they were heartless to her, back when she was a kid and they captured her dignity, her respect for herself"?for being slow witted. Her father had told her, "Women seldom live long enough to realize their passionate hope can be met with their passionate desire"? (she never knew what that meant, for she was happy), adding, "...seldom men can give that kind of love, passion to a women."? She felt he was trying to prepare her for the worst when she got married. 2 The Storm 'This is a bad storm,' murmured Gnter, leaning over the edge of the roof, swaying his rope to his daughter. The levee was flooding: flooding like mad, a crazy-madness was in it; the dikes were all broken along its banks; parts of the levee were falling into the Mississippi River, some floating away, some sinking, drifting, as it covered inland all the way to the cliffs. It was middle-dust, and the old man knew time was running out, time was short for the rescue, if there was to be one. There had not been such rise in the Mississippi, not that much of a rise since the early l880's"?. Or so he had head from the old timers when he was younger. Yet still he had heard of the river down south, down towards St. Louis, and New Orleans, Cairo, and Memphis, and other places some years back having such storms, with the over flooding of the Mississippi. But this far north, it hadn't been for a long time. The old man's muscles were getting cramps in them as he lay across the top of the roof; he wasn't sure how much stamina he had left, feet down into holes into the roof"?supported on beams, secured tightly his knees, how much energy was or did he have was going through his mind"?how much left. It was not like twenty-five years ago, when he could fight the currents of the Mississippi, or even possibly jump from where he was into the river and carry Jean-lee out, but not anymore: not any longer, it was a matter of endurance, and he couldn't afford to be wrong, her life depended on it. It was twenty-feet he estimated for his daughter, this was how much he needed, and he had to use it sparingly, but she seemed a hundred-miles away. "Get closer to the wall,"? he yelled to his daughter. Freighted, she walked slowly as she was told toward the wall, leaning lightly against it. Now the old man got thinking, he could bounce the rope off the wall and she could grab it, that is, if she could catch it as it went past her as he thrust it out at her, towards her. At which point she could put it around her waist and he'd pull her out of that god-forsaken"?stinking dungeon. There, he threw it... "Yes, yes!"? he cried, "good job!"? he says. "Here I am Papa...!"? she waved her hands. He looked up into the sky again, to see how much of it was fading into darkness It was all becoming grayish, with ink-like threads of lace going through it, all molding together, just a matter of time: way off in the far distance it was, yet on top of him, and it would blind him soon; "?yet it had not drifted overhead yet, it was not where he was yet His eyes watching the shadows forming here and there, his eyes watching everything moving, everywhere It was mid-spring, and the days were longer, hopefully the storm would let up, but it didn't seem so, not likely he hoped: 'Why not?' he asked hisself, '...why of all days, does it not let up?' "Can't you hear me?"? he cried"? No answer came from her, the thunder was too loud anyway, and people's voices screaming, drowning people high-pitched as they popped their heads out of the water for another grab of air "?all around them, everywhere, sounds, crying, expressions of grief he had never heard before. He saw a horse float by"?; but he maintained a flat-affect on his face incase his daughter would see it and take it as a hopeless gesture, and lose her composure, and possibly do something he could not fix, at this point he had a plan, and he was working on it, it was his style: think it out, don't act on emotions, think it out, make a plan, and follow through. It was the way he lived life, it worked for him: for better or worse, it worked. If all failed, well then it did, but this time he could not quite think like that, it had to work, it just had to. He could smell the earth, the greenish dark water, the damp cliffs behind him, he could smell it all, and even the garbage and death that floated by, below him. Jean-lee's voice was slow, sluggish, as she repeated herself, "I'm waiting, I'm ok right now dad, let me know what to do?"? He wasn't showing fatigue"?but he was fighting it, for he was fighting against the winds and the rains, yes, fatigued"?a growing concern, but he didn't allow himself to display it"?not yet anyhow, that also could trigger an action he was not prepared for, by Jean-lee The main thing he needed to do was assure her all would turn out well "?as he continued his rescue, he needed to promise her all would be fine by showing her he was fine, if she remained calm, and she was to a certain degree tranquil now"?calm and focused on him is what he wanted, exactly what he wanted and it was working If anything, Gnter was getting a bit frantic at not being able to predict the storms moods, it never stopped raining, and the winds never stopped, but they would decrease, then increase, then the winds would shift, and pull, and die for moment This confusing storm was beginning to be madding He held the rope up with one hand and with the other he grabbed it and flung-forward a ting, throwing it out, out in"?in a tossing manner, away the rope flew, and into the area of his daughter it went, as she stood stone-still. It bounced against the wall"?she lost it, couldn't grab it, didn't grab it, and almost losing his balance in the process"?in a panic of excitement thinking she would grab it, almost falling off the roof and into the water, and his strength zapped for a moment, recaptured, yet it was, it was, was going"?but he caught his balance: he knew he had to do something quick for he knew, weakness would not save anybody. At the same time he noticed the river getting wider at the levee, and smaller and smaller was the levee becoming: as a result, less land to work with. Workers from all around the area, and even some from out of town, and up north had built a four foot dike with sandbags in the past twenty-four hours, but the waters broke through it. It was broadcasted over the radio that downriver the Mississippi was miles wide. The forests were now swamps, and towns were but mud piles, or about to be. The sandbags that guarded the levee were now at the bottom of the Mississippi, or again, about to be, and several roof tops of houses were sailing down river with families on them; thoughts were: they might even beat the train down to New Orleans, should the roofs last that long. That reminded him, the old man, old man Gnter of his friend, John Nobel and the young Mac Camp boy"?he stared into the water for a moment |
